4 - childhood

I took my job as Dad's necktie helper very seriously. I would deliberate for long periods of time on which crazy pattern he should wear that day. Then, with complete seriousness I would tie his necktie. It was an interesting skill for a nine year old girl to have but it has served me well helping boyfriends over the years. But, back to that night and my important task. I selected a money print tie that my grandmother had purchased for my Dad on our recent trip to Washington, D.C. I thought it suited the importance of a Mason meeting. Loony Toons could wait until a workday. I was promised a hug and a kiss when he came home that night after I was sleeping and skipped off to go play The Lava Game with my brother.

Somewhere in the middle of my brother accusing me of having touched the floor in my daring leap to the couch from the chair, we heard a knock on the door. I ran and hid behind the kitchen island while my brother peeked through the door to see who was there. I was to relay the message of who it was to my Mum who had been vacuuming the house in her slip and was now hiding in the bathroom wondering who was knocking at such a late hour. It was "Uncle Wayne" aka my brother's best friend's father so my brother, naturally, let him in. I'm pretty sure my Mum had a stroke. I didn't understand it (still don't sometimes) but my Mum is very particular about her appearance. Wayne sent us off to the other room but we hung around the door frame and tried to figure out what was going on.

He kept knocking on the bathroom door and murmuring something to my mother. Suddenly she opened the door. I realized with absolute clarity that something was very,  very wrong if my Mum had just been convinced to open the door. She had added an oversized blue and white checked Arizona Jeans fleece to her outfit of slippers and a slip. They didn't tell us kids anything that night but I knew enough to know that my Mum wearing that in front of someone that she had not married or given birth to spelled trouble. We were hurried into bed and given surprisingly tight hugs as my Mum rushed out the door. I was so confused and frightened that I pulled my entire night-time book supply from underneath my bed into my tent-bed with me. Armed with a flashlight and piles of paperbacks, I slept only a few hours that night.

The next morning my brother woke me up and, still sleepy, I went down to the kitchen for breakfast. I could not believe my eyes when I saw Wayne standing there behind the kitchen island. I glared at him and stalked out of the room. Everything from the night before came rushing back to me. Why hadn't my Dad come home and given me my goodnight kiss? Where did my Mum go? Then, Wayne made a mistake he would regret for years to come. He called me back into the room. "Hey Katie," he said with a cheerful smile. I greeted him with all the hatred a nine year old can muster, my hands on my hips, eyes narrowed. I did not bother asking what he wanted.  "You're cute when you're mad." It would take years before my bizarre distrust of this man would be vindicated but from that moment on, I loathed him. I was a painfully shy and seriously scared kid and I was trying to be fearsome. Cute! How dare he?! He drove us to school and I couldn't get away fast enough.


The hours dragged by before my Mum finally came and picked us up. "Daddy had an accident."
My father had been hit head-on during the previous night's snowstorm. Although he was many miles from our house when it happened he was hit by our next door neighbor. If not for the plow on the front of his truck, my father wouldn't have made it. The other man, very intoxicated, was not wearing his seatbelt and flew through the windshield of his vehicle and landed on the other side of the road. He only recently died but never woke from his coma.

Everyone was fussing over me at the hospital. It was all a blur of concerned voices and sympathetic faces. I kept insisting on seeing my father. The nurses and my parents friends all thought that it was a bad idea. My father, while alive, had enjoyed the feeling of a steering wheel shoved into half of his face. The right side of his face had not fared well. I didn't care what they told me. I wanted to kiss my father. I was not going to let another night pass without kissing my Dad. It was becoming clear that I would have to leave and I was NOT going to go without seeing my Daddy. I was an awkward and quiet child but I was as stubborn as they come. I pleaded with my Mum, "I don't care what he looks like. It won't scare me. He's still Daddy and I need to kiss him." Nothing would have changed my mind. My Mum, bless her, knew that. So in I went.
Initially, I was just relieved to be let into my Dad's room. I had been starting to get really worried that I wouldn't be allowed in and I was incredibly grateful just to make it through the door. I marched over to my Dad's bedside. I was a kid on a mission.  I still remember how happy he was to see me. I wasn't scared or grossed out. Looking at the photographs now, I wonder how it was that I wasn't bothered by seeing my father's face smashed in. He's had surgeries and some of the bones in his face were replaced with metal so now he looks quite normal again but seeing the pictures it is hard to believe that I wasn't scared out of my wits.

Once I had nestled myself at my Dad's side and found a place to cuddle in amongst the tubes and IV, I was presented with an interesting challenge. I was there and with my Dad but I had no idea where I could put a kiss. Any space that wasn't covered with bandage was swollen or bloody or injured in some way. I examined his face for the longest time, informing him of my problem as I studied him. Finally I found the perfect place. One teeny tiny spot, just big enough and not a bit bigger, for his nine year old daughter to plant his goodnight kiss.


EDIT:

I took my job as Dad's necktie helper very seriously. I would deliberate for long periods of time on which crazy pattern he should wear that day. Then, with complete seriousness I would tie his necktie. It was an interesting skill for a nine year old girl to have but it has served me well helping boyfriends over the years. But, back to that night and my important task. I selected a money print tie that my grandmother had purchased for my Dad on our recent trip to Washington, D.C. I thought it suited the importance of a Mason meeting. Loony Toons could wait until a workday. I was promised a hug and a kiss when he came home that night after I was sleeping and skipped off to go play The Lava Game with my brother.

Somewhere in the middle of my brother accusing me of having touched the floor in my daring leap to the couch from the chair, we heard a knock on the door. I ran and hid behind the kitchen island while my brother peeked through the door to see who was there. I was to relay the message of who it was to my Mum who had been vacuuming the house in her slip and was now hiding in the bathroom wondering who was knocking at such a late hour. It was "Uncle Wayne" aka my brother's best friend's father so my brother, naturally, let him in. I'm pretty sure my Mum had a stroke. I didn't understand it (still don't sometimes) but my Mum is very particular about her appearance. Wayne sent us off to the other room but we hung around the door frame and tried to figure out what was going on.

He kept knocking on the bathroom door and murmuring something to my mother. Suddenly she opened the door. I realized with absolute clarity that something was very,  very wrong if my Mum had just been convinced to open the door. She had added an oversized blue and white checked Arizona Jeans fleece to her outfit of slippers and a slip. They didn't tell us kids anything that night but I knew enough to know that my Mum wearing that in front of someone that she had not married or given birth to spelled trouble. We were hurried into bed and given surprisingly tight hugs as my Mum rushed out the door. I was so confused and frightened that I pulled my entire night-time book supply from underneath my bed into my tent-bed with me. Armed with a flashlight and piles of paperbacks, I slept only a few hours that night.

The next morning my brother woke me up and, still sleepy, I went down to the kitchen for breakfast. I could not believe my eyes when I saw Wayne standing there behind the kitchen island. I glared at him and stalked out of the room. Everything from the night before came rushing back to me. Why hadn't my Dad come home and given me my goodnight kiss? Where did my Mum go? Then, Wayne gave me a line I still hate to hear. He called me back into the room. "Hey Katie," he said with a cheerful smile. I greeted him with all the hatred a nine year old can muster, my hands on my hips, eyes narrowed. I did not bother asking what he wanted.  "You're cute when you're mad." I was a painfully shy and seriously scared kid and I was trying to be fearsome. Cute! How dare he?! He drove us to school and I couldn't get away fast enough.

The hours dragged by before my Mum finally came and picked us up. "Daddy had an accident."

My father had been hit head-on during the previous night's snowstorm. Although he was many miles from our house when it happened he was hit by our next door neighbor. If not for the plow on the front of his truck, my father wouldn't have made it. The other man was very intoxicated and flew through the windshield of his vehicle and landed on the other side of the road. The price he paid for not wearing a seatbelt was a coma and then death.

Everyone was fussing over me at the hospital. It was all a blur of concerned voices and sympathetic faces. I kept insisting on seeing my father. The nurses and my parents friends all thought that it was a bad idea. My father, while alive, had enjoyed the feeling of a steering wheel shoved into half of his face. The right side of his face had not fared well. I didn't care what they told me. I wanted to kiss my father. I was not going to let another night pass without kissing my Dad. It was becoming clear that I would have to leave and I was NOT going to go without seeing my Daddy. I was an awkward and quiet child but I was as stubborn as they come. I pleaded with my Mum, "I don't care what he looks like. It won't scare me. He's still Daddy and I need to kiss him." Nothing would have changed my mind. My Mum, bless her, knew that. So in I went.
Initially, I was just relieved to be let into my Dad's room. I had been starting to get really worried that I wouldn't be allowed in and I was incredibly grateful just to make it through the door. I marched over to my Dad's bedside. I was a kid on a mission.  I still remember how happy he was to see me. I wasn't scared or grossed out. Looking at the photographs now, I wonder how it was that I wasn't bothered by seeing my father's face smashed in. He's had surgeries and some of the bones in his face were replaced with metal so now he looks quite normal again but seeing the pictures it is hard to believe that I wasn't scared out of my wits.

Once I had nestled myself at my Dad's side and found a place to cuddle in amongst the tubes and IV, I was presented with an interesting challenge. I was there and with my Dad but I had no idea where I could put a kiss. Any space that wasn't covered with bandage was swollen or bloody or injured in some way. I examined his face for the longest time, informing him of my problem as I studied him. Finally I found the perfect place. One teeny tiny spot, just big enough and not a bit bigger, for his nine year old daughter to plant his goodnight kiss.

My Dad still wears that money design tie. Two generations of stain removing women couldn't remove all of the blood from it but he wears it anyway. It's his reminder of how lucky he was to have that plow on his truck. It's my reminder of how much I love my Dad and to never take him for granted.